August is solely a month of endings for me.
Here’s a shit poem I wrote about it.

August

I do not like the month of August.

They say the 8th month is the Sunday of summer…
They couldn’t be more right.
Though my birth month, I do not like
the month named for Augustus.
Always a month of endings, the beginning of the end,
and disappointment.

My heart feels wrong and my eye lids are heavy.
My gut is in a knot and my skin is too hot.
I’m tired of being sick all the time. Literally: all of the time.
I’m reminded every time I eat.
I’m reminded every time I take my pills.
I’m alone in my head; I’m alone with the shadows and almost there sounds.

I’m going to stay alone because despite my laid back, low maintenance attitude and interactions, my body is high maintenance as well as my unbalanced mind.